The Incredibly Consequential Life of Charlie Zappala

Chapter Nine: Charlie in a Bottle

The sun was already setting when Charlie got to their apartment. Like usual, neither of their roommates was back yet. Following usual protocol, they dropped their things by the door and went to sit on the couch, not bothering to change out of their stuffy business casual office attire.

As soon as their back hit the cushion, they felt uneasy. They froze. Nothing was making noises in the refrigerator today, at least.

Charlie paused.

Nope, nothing was making noises in the fridge. But something still felt off. The questionable memories from yesterday came back at full force in the form of barely comprehensible racing thoughts. Charlie's chest tightened.

A brief wave of panic forced them out of their seat and into the kitchen. They positioned themself in front of the refrigerator and took a deep breath. With an unsteady hand, they ventured out and opened the door. Inside was a sight so unseemly it sent Charlie into a near conniption.

Bert forgot to throw out the fucking empty gallon of milk again.

After that minor realization, however, Charlie sighed. The fridge was a fridge again. No Magician's Nephew otherworldly pool bullshit or video game portal-ing. They shut the door with a forceful slam and grumbled, "Fuck you for making me have to keep going through this goddamn Ghostbusters shit again. 1984 my ass."

They left the kitchen in favor of the couch once more. They flopped face first and groaned. Today wasn't the time for this. This week wasn't the time for this. This lifetime wasn't the time for this. The uneasy feeling didn't go away. Not that it had gone away, but being back in the apartment escalated the feeling to a point where it couldn't be ignored. They didn't move for however long.

Bert came home first, as usual. "Sup, Char," he greeted, walking by them.

Charlie sat up. "Hey."

"How's it going?" he asked, more as a formality than an actual question.

"Well, you know. You?"

He nodded. "TGIF my man."

They nodded in response, then stood up off the couch. "Hey, I'm thinking about going out tonight. You want to come?"

Creases formed in Bert's forehead. "You're going out again? Dude, this is like the third night in a row."

They rubbed their face, blocking their view. "I'm just really fucking on edge, man. These have not been a good couple days for me."

"Sorry to hear that, dude. But be careful. You're totally going to wreck your liver at this rate."

"I'm not, don't worry."

"I thought you couldn't even drink on your medication."

Charlie waved it off. "I take it in the morning, so it's fine if I drink at night." They weren't actually sure if that was true, but they weren't dead yet, so.

Bert started to leave the room. "Whatever, Char. Just make sure your phone's charged this time. Don't want a repeat of last night. Anna was up my ass for like three hours."

"Do you think she'd want to come along tonight?"

"Nah, she has a thing with some of her friends from school. She'll be out the whole night on the other side of town." He turned into the bathroom. "See you later. Don't be an idiot."

As soon as the door closed, Charlie grabbed their wallet and practically ran out of the apartment.

There were no exciting hook ups or random meetings at the bar tonight. Too many people were there for any of them to notice the quiet loner loitering around the barstools. The lack of human interaction was refreshing for them. It was a switch from whatever the last few days had been.

The post-realization that it was payday let Charlie confidently order as many drinks as they wanted—which wasn't many, admittedly, but it was certainly enough. On the Charlie Zappala sliding scale of sipping club soda to getting absolutely fucked, Charlie had opted for a solid nine tonight. They needed it, they tried to justify. Whether that was actually true or not was irrelevant.

Charlie stumbled out of the bar at god-knows-what time.

It was dark.

Not that the lack of light did much to narrow down the time, but at least it wasn't morning. The bar closed at 2 AM either way, but they definitely left before it closed. Definitely. Maybe. They weren't that drunk, really. They were able to make it home fine. Besides the part where they puked in a random alley. And the part where they tried to strike up a conversation with a passing panhandler. In a twist of expectation, it was the latter that quietly tucked their chin down and left wordlessly.

But after all the shit that happened the past two days, it just felt so fucking good to lose themself completely for a bit. A voice in the back of their head that sounded far too much like their therapist reminded them that this was self destructive behavior and should not be taken lightly. Charlie had some choice words for the voice and may-or-may-not have said 'Fuck you Susanne' outloud in the middle of the street.

In the middle of their long trek home, Charlie took a seat in a bus stop overhang. One other person sat on the near-rotted wooden bench. It was a middle aged woman wearing scrubs, probably on her way back from the nightshift at the local hospital. She held her purse tightly to her chest at all times.

Charlie rested their elbows on their knees and held their head in their hands. "Fuuuuuuuuck me."

The woman didn't respond.

"I'mssorry," they slurred. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I don't mean to scare you. I just—fuck me, man. Did you know yesterday I lost my fucking mind? I shit you not. I was just minding my own fucking goddamn business and then before you know it I'm shipped off to fucking Hogwarts or that fucking place from the stupid movie–what's the one? You know the one? Barbie and the dancing princess. No, twenty princesses. All dancing or some shit and then they try to tell me I'm the fucking Chosen One or some bullshit like that. What's up with that? Who does that? Like, it made no goddamn fucking sense. But it happened. I think. Idunno. I woke up this morning and everything was fucking normal and shit. I guess I'm really just losing it. Just fuckin' drown me in barium orsssomeshet. And like apparently according to my stellar fucking roommates I was probably just out getting sssssssshitfaced but they didn't even bother to find me or look for me for like six hours orssomethin'. You know what that is? That's like..." they paused to do the math. "A quarter of a day. That's twenty—no, twenty-five percent. Twenty five fucking seconds of the day before they realized 'oh fuck we should probably give a shit about Charlie'. Guess I'm chopped fucking liver." They laughed to themself. "My liver's fucking chopped right now."

They finally decided to turn to look at the woman.

Her bag was still clutched tightly, but now in her other hand she gripped tightly to a small canister of mace.

"Oh shit, sorry, ma'am. No, I'm not—I'm not trying to—I'm just drunk issssall. I'm not--no. Fuck. Sorry. I'm drunk. I'm durnk. I'm—"

The bus rolled up and halted with a loud hiss. The woman stood up and boarded as quickly as possible, without ever saying a word.

"I'm sorry!" they called out as the doors closed. "I'm sorry!" they yelled out as the bus continued down the street.

After a minute of pouting, Charlie stumbled to their feet and finished walking back to their apartment.